


Hope for Better

by Delightful_I_Am



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Awesome Sheriff Stilinski, Bookstore Owner Stiles Stilinski, Deputy Derek Hale, Derek Hale Deserves Nice Things, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Future Fic, Happy Ending, Hopeful Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Sad Stiles Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski Deserves Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-07
Updated: 2018-12-07
Packaged: 2019-09-13 13:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,437
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16893105
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Delightful_I_Am/pseuds/Delightful_I_Am
Summary: “I’m fine.” Derek gave the back of Stiles’ neck a friendly squeeze, and settled himself on the previously unoccupied chair at the table. “I’d ask how you are, but I don’t want you to hurt yourself trying to form a sentence.”“Oh fuck you, dude!” Stiles hated the stupid little adorable creases at the corners of Derek’s eyes. “I was fine before you showed up, looming from the shadows.”“It’s one thirty in California, in July,” Derek said with an expressionless look, “good luck finding any shadows. Especially one big enough to loom in.”“Oh my god…” Stiles groaned and dropped his head to the table. “Why did you have to find a sense of humour now? Where was that ten years ago? Do you know how much more approachable you would have been if you’d ever smiled at us, in a non-terrifying way?”“Yes.”“You- oh my- wha-” Stiles spluttered and turned his head just enough to glare at Derek. “Oh, you’re an asshole.”





	Hope for Better

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aussiebee](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aussiebee/gifts).



> This is a gift for my beautiful bae, aussiebee, who requested Sterek first kiss/kissing in the rain. It might have taken me two months (I'm so sorry!), and I didn't manage to get Stiles showing up on Derek's doorstep all wet and enticing, but there is kissing in the rain, and feelings, and stuff, so hopefully you won't be too disappointed ;)
> 
> There is gratuitous use of song lyrics in here, and I'm not sorry.
> 
> Any mistakes are mine, because I'm lazy and didn't edit this before posting it.

It was mid summer, there was a pleasant sort of drowsiness to the air, and Derek Hale was sitting on a porch swing, his head tilted back, eyes closed as the setting sun washed across his face. Slowly rocking back and forth. On a porch swing. Derek Hale. A porch swing. Because he had a porch. He had a porch that came with a swing. A swing that Derek Hale was sitting on. Swinging. Clearly Stiles was having a stroke, because the idea of Derek Hale did not lend itself to sitting on a _porch swing._ Stiles stood on Derek’s front lawn - _he had a front lawn!_ \- and tried to remember his reason for being there in the first place. He was also fairly certain he had his mouth hanging open in a spectacularly unattractive show of his surprise and confusion.

“What do you want, Stiles?”

Stiles snapped his mouth shut with a painful _clack_ and tried to form words. Any words. But apparently he had been rendered stupid, because all that came out was a decidedly unintelligible sort of _“Guh?”._

Derek sighed and opened his eyes, stopping his swinging by digging a sock-clad toe into a groove in the porch. How anyone could look menacing while sitting on a _porch swing_ in _socks,_ was completely beyond Stiles, and yet… Derek Hale, ladies and gentlemen! Derek raised an unimpressed eyebrow and Stiles was suddenly catapulted back to high school and all the good-natured animosity that had flavoured their interactions. And apparently so was his mouth, because while he had intended to say something along the lines of _“Hey Derek, good to see you. It’s been a while.”_ what _actually_ came out was… not that.

“Seriously dude? You come back to town and don’t even have the fucking decency to say hi?” Smooth, Stilinski. “I had to hear from my _dad_ \- who, by the way, looked far too pleased with himself - that not only had you moved back, but that you’ve bought a house, _and_ you applied for the opening at the station?”

Stiles had advanced on Derek while he spoke, and now he stood at the top of the stairs, one foot on the porch (Derek had a _porch,_ holy shit!) and it was taking a not insignificant amount of self control to hold himself back from grabbing Derek by the shoulders and shaking that infuriating calm right off him.

Derek’s lips twitched, like he was holding back a smile, like he knew something Stiles didn’t, and he tilted his head, staring straight at Stiles. The smug bastard.

Well?” Stiles was definitely keeping his cool. Definitely. “You gonna say anything?”

“This is private property.” There was that little lip twitch again.

“I- you- wha-” Stiles spluttered incoherently for a few seconds, acutely aware of Derek’s mirth-filled gaze, “when the fuck did you get a sense of humour?!”

Derek smiled, finally allowing the corners of his mouth to lift. The corners of his eyes crinkled and Stiles was once again rendered speechless. Huh. Happy was a good look on him.

“It’s good to see you, Stiles.” Derek’s voice was soft, smooth and syrup-sweet. A perfect cadence that blended with the last embers of the waning day. And Stiles was starting to sound a little too flowery even to his own ears. Mind. Whatever. 

“Yeah uh,” Stiles shifted on his feet and scratched the back of his neck, “it’s… um, it’s good to see you too, dude.” 

They stared at each other. Past the point of societal convention, really, but Stiles couldn’t find it in himself to look away. He might be nearer to thirty instead of twenty, but apparently he was just as affected by Derek as he was when he was a teenager. Although judging by the warmth settling low in his stomach, it was in a very different way. Okay maybe not _different,_ exactly, but he was much more comfortable in his own self these days, so it felt worlds away from when he was sixteen. Mostly. 

“Anyway!” Stiles’ voice was way too loud in the air between them. He swallowed and tried to continue at a more acceptable volume. “I should… I should probably go. Gotta make sure the sheriff isn’t trying to clog his arteries with junk.”

Stiles backed away, stumbling slightly on the steps as he waved awkwardly at Derek, feeling for all the world like he was fleeing something with his metaphorical tail between his very un-metaphorical legs. His shaky, un-metaphorical legs. Derek just watched him go, that pleased tilt to his lips, and a warmth in his eyes that betrayed just how different he was now. How settled. Stiles smiled and turned, finally, heading for the jeep -not the same jeep, that had died nearly ten years ago now- still sitting parked by the driveway. By the driveway and not in it; it hadn’t felt quite right to park in the driveway. Not yet. 

Stiles paused with one foot in the jeep. He turned his head and spoke softly, barely above his regular speaking volume, knowing Derek would hear him.

“Welcome home, Derek.”

He pulled himself the rest of the way into the jeep, and started the engine. He watched the rearview mirror as he pulled away, Derek and his house slowly receding into the distance, one last blaze of sun washing over the figure still sitting on the porch swing. Stiles shook his head and snorted a soft laugh. Derek hale had a fucking porch swing. 

*** 

It’d been two weeks since Stiles went and saw Derek. Two whole weeks since Stiles had had his whole life’s view flipped upside down and turned inside out and- Okay. So that might be a little dramatic, even for Stiles. But still. Two weeks in which Stiles seemed to run into Derek everywhere. At the grocery store. At the library. That one time at the movies where they were awkwardly standing next to each other in line. At the station! Alright, so that last one wasn’t really that surprising, what with Stiles being there most days to see his father -read: make sure his father was eating properly- and then there’s Derek, the new deputy. In his uniform. _His uniform._ Stronger men than Stiles would have found that particular vision distracting.

All of that boiled down to a very confused Stiles, an infuriatingly unflappable Derek, and an insufferably chipper sheriff. Who was definitely getting egg whites only for the foreseeable future, if Stiles had anything to say about it.

“I’m just saying, kid,” The sheriff mumbled around his mouthful of couscous, “that it wouldn’t have been such a big shock if you hadn’t… distanced yourself from them all, after-”

“Dad!” Stiles stops his father’s words with a hastily flung out hand and wide eyes. “I thought we’d agreed we would never speak of that again?”

“I don’t remember agreeing to that.” The Sheriff grinned.

How someone could sound so smug with couscous in their teeth, Stiles would never know. He sighed and dropped his gaze to where his hands rested on the table, his good mood dissolving, dripping off him like a popsicle left too long in the sun. He toyed with his fingers, and tried to work past the cotton wool he was sure was lodged in his throat.

“Look, dad…” Stiles paused, still resolutely looking down, “I know you don’t really agree with how I… handled… things. I know you think I should’ve just, I don’t know, manned up? Dealt with it? But I just...”

“Kid…” Now his father was upset. Great.

“No. I get it, pops. Really. But…” Stiles finally looked up at his dad, who was looking somewhat determinedly at a spot just past Stiles’ left ear. “I know it was a while ago, but I just, I don’t-” Stiles sighed, rubbing his elbow where he could still feel the scar tissue wrapped around the joint, “-I don’t think it’s ever gonna be something I can just… put behind me. Do you- do you think you can just, I dunno… accept that? Let me work things out in my head my own way? In my own time?”

“Aw hell, kiddo.” His father took a deep breath, “look, I know you’ve been through… hell, you’ve been through more than anyone ever deserves. Been through more than most would be able to handle, but… I just wish this one didn’t still haunt you so damn much.”

“Me too, dad. Me too.” Stiles sighed and lowered his eyes to his hands again.

“I’m sorry I brought it up, kid. I won’t do it again,” the sincerity in the sheriff’s voice was painful, “not unless you ask me to.”

“Thanks.” 

They ate in silence for a while; the need for talk had sort of been lit on fire and shoved into a ravine, but, surprisingly, not in a bad way. Stiles had just taken an unnecessarily large bite of his french toast when his father looked up with a smile and raised a hand to someone in greeting.

“Derek!” Stiles inhaled his french toast. “How are you, son? Settling in okay?”

“Yes sir, thank you for asking.” Derek sounded soft, and _happy._

Stiles continued to choke on his food, while his father and Derek continued talking over the dying whale sounds he was making. He was in the process of composing his own eulogy - probably something in the realm of _“Stiles perished while his father heartlessly ignored his last dying wheeze”_ \- when he lost all ability to think. There was a hand. A hand patting him gently, but firmly on the back. A hand that did not belong to his father, because his father’s hands were currently occupied with the task of animating a story about one of the deputies. All of this surely meant that the hand now rubbing soothing circles between Stiles’ shoulder blades belonged to one Derek Hale. Derek _“I’ll rip your throat out. With my teeth.”_ Hale. Nope. Does not compute. Do not pass go, do not collect two hundred dollars, do not think about the searing heat that was burning a path across Stiles’ skin. Just. No.

A glass of water was thrust under his nose and Stiles took the opportunity to attempt to drown himself. Of course, he only succeeded in actually _drinking_ the water, which. Rude. Now he was going to have to actually interact with Derek. Horror of horrors.

“D-Derek!” Stiles coughed a little. Maybe some of that water _had_ made its way into his lungs. “How- wha- I mean… how are you?”

“I’m fine.” Derek gave the back of Stiles’ neck a friendly squeeze, and settled himself on the previously unoccupied chair at the table. “I’d ask how you are, but I don’t want you to hurt yourself trying to form a sentence.”

“Oh fuck you, dude!” Stiles hated the stupid little adorable creases at the corners of Derek’s eyes. “I was fine before you showed up, looming from the shadows.”

“It’s one thirty in California, in _July_ ,” Derek said with an expressionless look, “good luck finding any shadows. Especially one big enough to loom in.”

“Oh my god…” Stiles groaned and dropped his head to the table. “Why did you have to find a sense of humour now? Where was that ten years ago? Do you know how much more approachable you would have been if you’d ever smiled at us, in a non-terrifying way?”

“Yes.”

“You- oh my- wha-” Stiles spluttered and turned his head just enough to glare at Derek. “Oh, you’re an asshole.”

Derek just grinned with slightly sharper teeth than the average human as the sheriff cleared his throat. Stiles snapped his head up, eyes wide with the realisation he’d forgotten his father was there. The delighted gleam in his father’s eyes did not sit well with him. No sir.

“Well!” The sheriff pushed his chair back and stood up. “I should get going. A lot of paperwork to get through before the shift change. Derek, I’ll see you on Thursday. Enjoy your days off. Stiles, try not to choke on anything else.”

“Oh my god! Dad!” Stiles’ voice was approaching a pitch only dogs could hear. Dogs and werewolves. 

“Oh, jeez, kid! That’s not what I meant!” His father screwed up his face in the universal disgust of parents everywhere when they accidentally referenced their children’s sex lives. “Get your damn mind out of the gutter!”

The sheriff took off at a brisk clip, no doubt trying to put as much space between him and Stiles, as quickly as possible. Stiles groaned again and buried his face in his hands. Derek made a sound suspiciously like a laugh and Stiles kicked him under the table. It was as effective as kicking a lead pipe. About as painful too.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up big guy. You’re the one that has to work with him.”

The silence from the other side of the table was very gratifying.

***

“Don’t you ever work?” 

That was how Stiles was greeted when he walked into the station a week or so after the most mortifying conversation he can remember having with his father and Derek. Rude. He turned to glare at the speaker and found Derek sitting at a desk, a mountain of paperwork in front of him, and his eyebrows set in a sort of exasperated fondness. Well then. 

“I work like, all the time, dude.” Stiles leaned his hip against Derek’s desk. “I’m just being a dutiful son and bringing my father a lovely, nutritious lunch so that he doesn’t die young from a completely preventable heart attack.” 

Derek just watched, an amused tilt to his mouth, as Stiles rattled the container in his hands to prove his point. 

“Did you bring enough to share?” Derek leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. 

Sweet mother of mercy, his poor shirt was going to explode at the seams and Stiles was going to spontaneously combust. He didn’t remember Derek being this attractive ten years ago. He remembers a pissed off ball of anger and repressed emotions that was overly fond of slamming Stiles into doors, and walls, and steering wheels. And okay, Stiles was man enough to admit that the manhandling might have been mildly attractive. Maybe. Alright fine. So Derek had always been hot as burning. But that doesn’t mean that Stiles is in any way capable of forming coherent sentences when confronted with all of… that. 

“Well, I mean, if you really want a salad that consists mostly of quinoa, kale, and tofu, by all means…” 

The disgust that Derek tried valiantly to hide was a beautiful thing.

“Stiles!” The sheriff’s voice cut across the bullpen. “Leave my deputy alone, please. Unlike some people, he actually has work to do.” 

“That hurts, pops.” Stiles placed a hand on his chest as he turned to his father, an expression of mock hurt on his face. “I come down here, on my own lunch break, to make sure you’re fed, and _this_ is the thanks I get?” He clicked his tongue. “Where is the love?” 

“The love disappeared the second _kale_ arrived in the house.” The sheriff said ‘kale’ the way some people might say ‘the plague’, but he still took the container from Stiles’ hands. “Now get going, before I make you clean out the cells.” 

The brief side hug and kiss to his hair took any sting out of the sheriff’s words, and Stiles watched him go back to his office with a smile on his face. 

“Don’t forget tomorrow night, Hale!” Was thrown over the sheriff’s shoulder just before the door closed to his office. 

Stiles turned to Derek in time to catch a fond smile, hastily hidden behind eyebrows that had long since ceased to be intimidating. 

“What’s tomorrow night?” Stiles asked, confused. 

“Oh, uh,” Derek scratched at his chin, “your father invited me to dinner at his place…” 

Derek trailed off at the look on Stiles’ face; some combination of horrified and nauseous, to be sure. 

“Tomorrow’s Wednesday.” Stiles said woodenly. 

“”Wow, Stiles! You learned the days of the week!” Derek grinned, but there was a tightness around his eyes. 

“Fuck you dude.” Stiles’ heart wasn’t really in the insult, but his mind was still snagged on Derek being invited to dinner at his dad’s house. 

“Look,” Derek’s voice was low enough that only Stiles could hear it, “if this is weird for you, I can tell him I can’t make it. I… I can come up with some excuse…?” 

“No!” Stiles practically yelled in his haste to stop Derek. He continued at a more reasonable volume. “No, don’t. My dad invited you, it’s totally cool. It’s just…” He sighed, unsure how to put the odd hollow feeling into words. 

“Stiles, really.” Derek leaned forward, his face painfully earnest. “If you don’t want me being around your father outside of work, that’s fine. I know you don’t have much to do with the supernatural these days, so I completely understand if you don’t want the supernatural near your family.” 

“No, Derek, that’s not-” Stiles sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face, frustrated with himself. “I don’t have a problem with you hanging out with my dad. I mean, yeah it’s a bit weird, but dude, I’m not gonna stop you having friendships.”

“Then why-?” 

“Wednesday nights are family nights, okay?” 

Stiles surprised himself and Derek both with his sudden outburst, and a few deputies, who looked over in concern. Stiles waved them away with a sheepish grin and ducked his head, shoulders slouched and tense. Derek was suspiciously silent. 

“Wednesdays were always the one day of the week that we were all home at the same time for dinner. Dad, me, and… and _mom._ ” Stiles took a deep breath and chanced a glance at Derek. His face was carefully blank. “And yeah, okay, it’s been… shit. It’s… it’s been nearly twenty years since she died, but Wednesdays are still our _day,_ you know? And dad’s never invited anyone over for dinner on a Wednesday. I don’t think even _Scott_ ever had dinner with us on Wednesdays. It just…” he sighed, “it just took me off guard, I guess.” 

“Stiles, I-” 

“It’s okay, Derek. I think it might be about time we opened up the family.” He gave Derek a somewhat wobbly smile. When he spoke again, it was with a fairly forced sort of cheeriness. “Well! I think I’ve wasted enough time, I should get back to work!”

“Okay.” Derek’s voice was soft, conciliatory. “I should… I should probably get on with this paperwork.” 

Stiles could hear in Derek’s voice the apology that was written so evidently in his body language, and it warmed his heart. Of course Derek Hale, out of all people, would understand Stiles’ feelings about family traditions. Stiles straightened and stepped away from Derek’s desk, giving Parrish a distracted wave as he backed out of the station, eyes never quite leaving Derek’s.

***

Stiles sighed and added another zero beside the list of stock he needed to order. A list that had been steadily getting smaller and smaller each month. If it kept up, he’d have to let Lucy go. She was a sweet kid, and the customers loved her, but he just wouldn’t be able to keep paying her if business didn’t pick up. Maybe he could give himself a pay cut? He shifted over to the computer and brought up the figures from the last few months. Looking through the takings, if he just moved some from him to- _huh-_ apparently he’d had that particular idea before. More than once.

“ _Fuck._ ” Stiles swore under his breath. 

If he took any more money off his own salary to pay Lucy, he’d officially be making not enough to cover his rent, let alone anything else. Well. That was that then. Already dreading the conversation he needed to have with Lucy, he flicked a quick text letting her know she wouldn’t be needed for the next few days. He received a chirpy _“Thanks Mr. Stilinski! :)”_ in response and dropped his head onto the counter. Maybe his dad was right. Maybe he ought to consider branching out in his little bookstore, and bringing in a more… occult section. Except that would put him right back into all the fuckery that went along with the shitstorm that was the supernatural element in Beacon Hills. Stiles sighed again. He knew himself too well to think that he would be able to stay out of it; to just be an impartial supplier. He was no Deaton, after all. 

The bell above the door announced quite clearly that it was time for the pity party to be over, so he raised his head and threw out his customary greeting without actually looking towards whoever had stepped inside. A mistake apparently. 

“Stiles. What time do you get off?” 

Jesus, no one had any right looking that good in a tank top and shorts. Stiles got stuck on Derek’s legs. Specifically his knees. Derek Hale had _knees._ Of course, logically, Stiles knew Derek had knees, but knowing something and _seeing_ it were two different kettles of fish. He didn’t think he’d ever seen Derek’s knees before. Not to mention his _shins._ He looked up sharply at the clearing of a throat. 

“Knees.” Fuck it. 

“What?” Derek asked, brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Three!” Stiles surged forward off his chair to cover his idiocy. “I close the shop at three, on Wednesdays.”

“For dinner.” 

“Yeah.” 

Derek watched him for a moment, no doubt acutely aware of the way Stiles’ heart was trying to rabbit its way out of his chest. 

“Is there anything that can’t wait for tomorrow?” Derek’s voice was pleasantly soft. 

“No.” _Yes._ “You got a better offer?” 

“Come for a drive with me.” 

Stiles looked at Derek. A hundred responses swirled through his mind, all of them an excuse to say no, but the syrupy slow heat of the day was turning his reactions on their heads. 

“Okay.” 

*** 

Ten minutes and a mild freak out later, Stiles found himself sitting in the passenger seat of Derek’s car, heading South on the road out of Beacon Hills. With Derek. In the car. Stiles and Derek. Together. Stiles’ mind flashed back to another time he was in a car with Derek. Foreheads met steering wheels, throats were threatened. It was all a bit traumatising really. Granted, ten years had passed since then, and Stiles liked to think everyone involved had matured. If only a little, in some cases. Well. They’d gotten older, at least. 

Stiles leaned forward in his seat and reached a hand up to the radio, but paused before he touched it. He looked over at Derek, taking in how relaxed he seemed, shoulders loose and only one hand on the steering wheel. He looked good. Stiles hoped he felt good, too. Derek Hale deserved a little bit of calm in his life. He deserved good things. The sun streaming in through the windshield warmed the car, and cast a sort of haze over Stiles. His blood buzzed under his skin, and he felt like he was on the cusp of something. Before he could figure out what, Derek’s voice brought him back to reality. 

“You can put music on,” Derek looked over at him, a smile on his face, “if you want to.” 

Stiles swallowed sharply and finished his movement, switching on the radio and automatically tuning it to his preferred station. Noise slowly filtered in, a little spotty and staticy like it always was on the outskirts of town. It took a moment for Stiles to place the song that was playing, but when he did, he smiled and slumped back in his seat. 

“My mom used to love this song.” He closed his eyes and hummed along. 

“Yeah?” Derek asked, voice soft, hesitant. “She had good taste.”

 Stiles hummed an affirmative and pressed himself back into his seat, feeling every inch of soft, worn leather sitting against his skin. 

“She couldn’t sing worth a damn, but she loved to sing along to this.” Stiles laughed. “She used to say that, they might have had a stupid name, but at least they knew how to write a song.” 

“Goo Goo Dolls isn’t that weird a name.” Derek protested, humour evident in his voice. 

“Derek. Come on, dude.” 

“All right. You might have a point. At least it made them memorable.” 

“You’re not wrong, dude.” Stiles opened his eyes and looked over at Derek. “This wasn’t her favourite song though.” 

“No?” 

“Nah.” Stiles shook his head and grinned. “Her favourite was this old song, came out in the eighties, maybe? Fast Car. Tracy Chapman.” 

“That’s a great song.” Derek said. “She really did have great taste.” 

“I haven’t listened to it in years.” Stiles looked down at his lap. “At first it was just because listening to it made me remember her, and that just made me sad. Then it got hard to listen to because some of it hit just a little too close to home, you know?” 

“Yeah.” Derek’s agreement was soft, and steeped in his own pain. 

Stiles nodded, and turned his gaze out the window, watching the landscape speeding by. He vaguely wondered where they were going, but found he wasn’t concerned enough to ask. Derek would have told him if he’d asked, he was sure. Well. Maybe the point was just to drive, anyway. The destination wasn’t important. And he knew Derek would get them back before it go too late. They had dinner plans, after all. 

“I wouldn’t mind hearing it actually.” The words had left his mouth before he was even aware of them forming. 

“Hmm?” 

“Fast Car. I wouldn’t mind hearing it.” Stiles could see storm clouds gathering on the horizon, and the air felt electric in his lungs.

“I’ve got an aux cable in the glove box.” Derek sounded surprised. “I think I have the song on my phone.” 

Stiles snorted. “The whole internet at your fingertips, and you still load music on your phone?” 

“What’s the internet?” 

Stiles laughed and bumped his shoulder into Derek’s as he plugged the cable into Derek’s phone. He felt Derek’s arm settle above his shoulders, on the back of his chair, and felt a warmth in his chest that had nothing to do with the summer day. He scrolled through Derek’s phone - not even a password lock on it - and located the song. His finger hovered over it, not quite touching. A warm and gentle hand settled on the nape of his neck, and breaths that Stiles hadn’t even noticed getting sharp, evened out. He tapped the song and leaned back in his seat, careful not to dislodge Derek’s hand. 

The intro started and Stiles was catapulted back to when he was five, and he and his mother would sit for long hours on the porch, in the late summer sun, and sing along, loud and out of tune, to this song, and others. He was startled at the sound of a voice accompanying the singer’s. Derek. 

 

_“You got a fast car_  
_I want a ticket to anywhere_  
_Maybe we make a deal_  
_Maybe together we can get somewhere_  
_Anyplace is better_  
_Starting from zero got nothing to lose_  
_Maybe we'll make something_  
_Me, myself I got nothing to prove”_

 

Derek’s voice was low, and clear, and utterly perfect for the song. Stiles swallowed past the tightness in his throat and listened to the next part, hardly daring to breathe. 

 

_“You got a fast car_  
_I got a plan to get us out of here_  
_I been working at the convenience store_  
_Managed to save just a little bit of money_  
_Won't have to drive too far_  
_Just 'cross the border and into the city_  
_You and I can both get jobs_  
_And finally see what it means to be living”_  

 

It was the next part that made it hard for Stiles, but he sang along, shaky at first, but gaining strength when the hand on his neck squeezed gently. Reassuringly. 

 

_"You see my old man's got a problem_  
_He live with the bottle that's the way it is_  
_He says his body's too old for working_  
_His body's too young to look like his_  
_My mama went off and left him_  
_She wanted more from life than he could give_  
_I said somebody's got to take care of him_  
_So I quit school and that's what I did"_  

 

Stiles let Derek finish the song alone, content to listen. Just like he used to with his mother. He smiled when Derek got to the part about arms wrapped around shoulders, and he settled himself closer to Derek, nearly leaning against him in the small space of the car. Derek Just dragged his hand down to Stiles’ elbow, rubbing gently at the scarring there. 

One day soon he’d tell Derek just what had happened to make him distance himself from the pack, and all things supernatural. How he’d been taken, to use as a message to the alpha. Again. How they’d carved him up, shoulder to elbow. How they’d burned a mark between his shoulder blades. How he hadn’t been able to look in a mirror for months afterwards without having a panic attack. Today wasn’t the day for that talk though. Today was a day for driving in the sun, a storm brewing in the distance, and an old song. 

The song came to an end, and silence filled the car again. Stiles turned his head and looked up at Derek, watching the shadows his cheekbones cast. 

“Hey Derek?” His voice was barely above a whisper. 

“Yeah?” Derek’s was just as soft. 

“Take us home?” 

“Okay.” 

*** 

The storm caught up to them a few miles out of town, and by the time they pulled into Stiles’ driveway, they could barely see ten feet in front of them. Derek turned the engine off and they sat there for a bit, just listening to the sound of the rain on the car roof. Stiles smiled to himself and unbuckled his seat belt. 

“Come on, Der. Don’t wanna keep the Sheriff waiting. Who knows what he’ll have for dinner if we’re late.” 

Stiles opened the door and stepped out of the car, relishing the way he was soaked before he’d even stood up fully. He felt alive with it. Closing the door, he rounded the front of the car and started heading to the house, in no real rush to get out of the rain. He turned at his name being called. 

“Stiles.” 

Derek was standing, closer than Stiles expected, his hand raised as if he were going to grab onto something. Stiles took a half step forward and grabbed Derek’s wrist. He watched, wide-eyed, as Derek raised his other hand and rested it against Stiles’ cheek. Stiles leant into the touch, eyes still locked onto Derek’s. He was so focused on him, that it came as no surprise when Derek bent forward and dragged his nose up Stiles’ neck, along the side of his jaw, coming to a stop a hairsbreadth from his lips. 

“Okay?” Derek breathed 

“Yeah.” Stiles nodded, the movement bringing their mouths together. 

Derek pressed closer, his mouth warm, and the hand on Stiles’ cheek a searing brand that Stiles welcomed as he sank into the kiss. It felt inevitable. An inexorable truth. It felt like being broken open and pulled back together. It felt like old songs on late summer days. Like his mother’s voice badly singing songs she loved. It felt like coming home. 

They parted slowly, and Stiles opened eyes he had no memory of closing, and for the first time in a very, very long time he felt no need to press his fingers against his skin one by one. For the first time in a very, very long time everything felt solid, and visceral, and _real._  

“My dad’s watching us from the window, isn’t he.” 

“Has been since we pulled up.” Derek laughed and ducked back in for another kiss. A fleeting thing that felt just as powerful as the first had. 

“Would you like to come in for dinner?” 

“I’d love to.”

As they turned and walked into the house, Stiles could swear he heard a voice singing. Loud and out of tune.

 

_I remember we were driving, driving in your car_   
_Speed so fast I felt like I was drunk_   
_City lights lay out before us_   
_And your arm felt nice wrapped 'round my shoulder_   
_I had a feeling that I belonged_   
_I had a feeling I could be someone, be someone, be someone..._

**Author's Note:**

> So it's been so long since I've posted anything (I'm sorry), and I've forgotten how to tag, so if anyone thinks of something I missed, please let me know. I really hope you liked this :)  
> Bee, I love you more than a fat kid loves cake. Me... I'm the fat kid ;)


End file.
